


Gay Is Not A Synonym For Shitty (And My Son Is Not An Idiot, You Bitch)

by kxllington



Series: Pete And Patrick Do Mundane Couple-y Shit [4]
Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Brownies, Crack, Fluff-ish?, Homophobia, LMAO, M/M, PTA Meetings, Yikes, badass Pete Wentz, married peterick, scarred Joe, someone get him some brain bleach, who reads these tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2016-08-24
Packaged: 2018-08-10 18:11:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7855810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kxllington/pseuds/kxllington
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Pete, are you sure I should go with you?" Patrick asked warily, fixing the collar of his button-up in the mirror. Pete made an unintelligible noise around his toothbrush, nodding furiously. He spat inelegantly into the sink and looked up at the singer desperately. </p><p>"Yes. Please. It's my turn to go, and you're B's father too, now, we're married. Also, you're gonna have to hold me back." Pete replied, stepping back to check over his appearance. Patrick gaped at him in the mirror.</p><p>"Hold you back? Pete, it's a PTA meeting! Why would I ne—"</p><p>"Because I fucking hate those people!"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gay Is Not A Synonym For Shitty (And My Son Is Not An Idiot, You Bitch)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bishopsknifepatrick](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bishopsknifepatrick/gifts).



> Aight so Bandsx-xbands sent me a Tumblr screenshot a couple weeks ago asking which person in the otp is the one to fucking fight Helen at the PTA meeting and flip over her brownies and I... s p i r a l l e d o u t o f c o n t r o l .
> 
> So yeah, here you go, love, I hope you like it. ;)
> 
> (Also pls forgive any inaccuracies in this fic about PTA meetings because I'm Canadian and up in Canada PTA meetings pretty much don't happen so like I have no clue what they're like)
> 
> Enjoy!

"Pete, are you sure I should go with you?" Patrick asked warily, fixing the collar of his button-up in the mirror. Pete made an unintelligible noise around his toothbrush, nodding furiously. He spat inelegantly into the sink and looked up at the singer desperately.

"Yes. _Please_. It's my turn to go, and you're B's father too, now, we're married. Also, you're gonna have to hold me back." Pete replied, stepping back to check over his appearance. Patrick gaped at him in the mirror.

" _Hold you back_? Pete, it's a PTA meeting! Why would I ne—"

"Because I fucking hate those people!" The bassist interjected, cutting Patrick off. He huffed, and smoothed his hair back. "They're so... _suburban_ , Patrick. A bunch of bleach blonde, gluten-free soccer moms rambling about how their kid is gonna be the next Einstein and trading casserole recipes. It's sickening! And they're so judgemental...I need emotional support when it's my turn!" Pete reasoned, clasping his hands together. Sighing, Patrick nodded, stepping towards Pete. He wrapped his arms around the older man's neck, smiling up at him.

"It'll be fine, Pete. What's the worst that could happen?" Pete returned the smile gratefully, weaving his arms around Patrick's waist and kissing him sweetly. The doorbell rang downstairs, indicating the babysitter's arrival. Patrick sighed at the interruption, pecking Pete once more on the lips before unwrapping himself from his husband. He jogged quickly down the stairs to let in Bronx's babysitter, leaving Pete alone in the bathroom. The bassist looked uncertainly at his reflection in the mirror for a moment.

"What's the worst that could happen...?" He muttered to himself, fixing his hair quickly before jogging down the stairs. It wouldn't be too bad, hopefully.

///////

Apparently, a lot of bad things could happen.

A _lot_.

The second they walked into the school's library, Patrick realized Pete's hesitation was completely rational. Scattered all around the room were middle-aged women, chatting animatedly to each other. And they were all incredibly stereotypical, with bleach-blonde bob haircuts and hot pink nail polish. The only men in the room were tucked away in a corner, backs to the room.

Pete drew a measured breath, walking with Patrick to the circle of chairs in the middle. The meeting was supposed to start in less than two minutes anyways, so the couple just draped their jackets over their chairs and sat.

"This isn't...so bad." Patrick lied in a hushed tone, leaning towards Pete. Pete scoffed, looking dully around the room.

"Just wait until one of them tries talking to us." The bassist replied. As if on cue, a woman with oddly styled, bleached hair and cold eyes came over to them, holding a tray of brownies.

"Good evening, Mr. Wentz, how are you? And who is this?" The woman asked, seemingly disinterested as she gestured to Patrick. Pete worked up a fake smile, looking up to meet her gaze.

"I'm doing just fine, Ms. Black, thank you. And this is Patrick Stump, my husband." Patrick looked up shyly, smiling. The woman's face contorted in disgust momentarily, then smoothed back out into a tight lipped smile.

"Oh," She said in a nasally voice, "Hello, Mr. Stump. I'm Helen Black, Mateo's mom." Patrick shook her hand, doing his best to smile genuinely and trying to brush off her reaction. He was about to say something to her, but then everyone else was sitting down in the circle, so Helen smiled, bittersweet, and set her brownies down on the table near the doors. Pete stood and peered over at the treats, then made a gagging noise.

"Tag card says gluten-free. Not even the good gluten-free stuff, either." Pete explained as he sat back down, seeing Patrick's questioning glance. The singer nodded, then snapped his head up towards the teacher.

"Good evening, parents, thank you for joining us tonight." The teacher said, standing up. "We welcome any parents who haven't joined us before. You know me, I'm Ms. Jackson. For tonight's meeting, I'd like to focus on your children's performances in class, and how it could be improved by their home life." She smiled warmly at everyone in the room, before leaning forward and gesturing to a couple to her left. "We'll take a moment to think about what we should say, then let's start with you two."

"Any ideas?" Pete whispered, leaning over to Patrick. The singer contemplated for a moment, fiddling with his hands. Then, his eyes lit up, and he smiled. He whispered in Pete's ear, earning a nod.

"I can say it if you want me to." Patrick offered. Pete nodded again, sitting back in his chair and letting go of his breath.

"Thank you."

"Mmhm." Patrick replied softly, resting his hand on the bassist's thigh.

Eventually, they began to go around the circle, each parent putting in their two cents about how their child was doing and how they'd try to help. Shocking himself, even, Pete found himself listening intently. Maybe he was just calmer because of Patrick's hand resting on his thigh, or he was trying to focus on something else besides Patrick's hand resting on his thigh. Either way, he took each of their suggestions and stored them in the back of his mind, planning to try them out.

And then it was Helen Black's turn.

"My little Mateo is doing _perfectly_ ," Helen began, voice snooty, "he's so smart, he should honestly jump right into the next grade! And although I don't have to change anything about how I'm raising Mateo, I honestly believe every one of your children would do better with the right...role models at home." The woman clasped her hands together, side eyeing Pete and Patrick for a second. "With the proper adult figures at home, perhaps some students wouldn't be so... _challenged_ in class."

Patrick felt Pete's whole body to tense at her words, and anger bubbled in his stomach as well. Did she really just insult both their relationship and Bronx's intelligence in one fell swoop? Unfortunately, she wasn't done.

"What do you mean, _proper_ role models, Helen?" Ms. Jackson asked, trying to keep herself calm as she watched Pete shake out of the corner of her eye. Helen smacked her too-bright orange lips as she spoke again.

"Mateo has been coming home and talking about certain kids in class who have unusual conditions at home. Apparently, these kids don't have parents who aren't home often, or have homosexuals for parents. To me, personally, proper role models in the house are a mother and a father who are present. Not off galavanting and committing sinfu—"

"You're talking about Bronx, aren't you?" Pete spoke up, voice surprisingly measured for how he was shaking with rage. Helen feigned innocence.

"Why of _course_ not, Mr. Wentz!" She said, acting shocked. Pete's eyes narrowed.

"No, you are, don't fucking lie. You're talking about my family." Pete leaned forward threateningly, causing Patrick's hand to slip off his thigh. "That _galavanting_ is our career. It's how we give our sons the lives that they deserve. If we aren't home, it's because we are working. Being in a band that tours the globe is straining, but we make damn sure we're there for our children. How fucking _dare_ you insult our efforts. We can't be there all the time, but we make it work.

"Bronx isn't 'challenged' in school, he's doing as well as I can ask of him. I wasn't a straight A student, neither was Ashlee. We don't place pressure on him to be that, because we know it's unfair and he's fucking eight. Bronx has a better home life than Mateo, I'm sure, considering you're gushing about how fucking incredible he is. I'm sure you force him to get A's or else he's punished. That way you feel less guilty for lying when he doesn't do well enough for you to brag. You should feel more guilty for putting those expectations over your son and his self worth."

The way that Helen's eyes blew wide for a moment confirmed his suspicions, and Patrick watched Pete warily as he continued. The rest of the parents had fallen silent to listen as well. And, the singer noted, judging by the smug look on Ms. Jackson's face, Helen was getting what she deserved. The bassist stood up from his chair, stepping forward once so that Helen could see him properly.

"And your "role models" bullshit? You don't fucking listen to the words coming out of your mouth. Isn't this your third divorce? After an affair? Real good role model coming from you. Bronx has so many amazing people in his life to look up to, and take lessons from, it's doesn't strictly have to be "a perfect heterosexual mommy and daddy". And not to toot my own horn on this one, but I think we're fairly good people for him to look up to, considering our healthy, trusting relationship and close friendship with our past spouses and girlfriends. No cheating, no bitterness. Even you could learn a lot from Patrick and I. If Mateo is so fucking smart, maybe he can teach you how to practice what you're preaching."

There was silence for a beat in the library, with Pete and Helen staring each other down. You could've heard a pin drop, or even the crackling of the fiery hatred pouring off of the bassist in that moment. Patrick sat, keeping his face neutral as he watched Pete, trying not to take too much notice to the stares being directed at him.

"'Trick, we're done here." Pete said, voice still dangerously low. Patrick nodded once, standing and grabbing their coats. He handed the bassist's off to him, and started walking out, without looking back. Just as they approached the door, a chair screeched behind them, and the two men whipped around.

"You're going to hell, you queers." Helen spat, livid. Pete smirked, glancing down at the snack table beside him.

"Guess we'll see you there, bitch." The bassist replied. He stuck two fingers under the lip of the gluten-free brownie tray and knocked it carelessly on the floor, spilling them everywhere. Then, Pete made his exit, pushing through the library doors.

Patrick remained, looking back at the parents in the room. Their faces were all frozen in varied degrees of shock, and Helen was visibly shaking with fury. He took a deep breath, glancing at the brownies on the floor.

"I wish I could say I'm sorry for what Pete said, but the truth is I'm really not. He's right. In fact, that's pretty much what we were gonna say we could teach Bronx at home to help him at school. Acceptance, and how to deal with people who hate what they don't understand. My hope is that tonight, you'll all go home and teach it to your kids as well, so that they don't end up on the wrong end of situations like these." Nudging a brownie with the toe of his boot, the singer shoved his hands in his pockets. "Teach 'em to get the good gluten-free stuff too, these look terrible." He turned and walked out the door without another word.

///////

"You handled that really well, babe." Patrick commended, folding his glasses. Pete huffed wearily, pulling his shirt up and over his head.

"I'm just worried about what'll happen next time I go," the bassist replied, "And the backlash that Ash is probably gonna get." He flopped down on top of the comforter, burying his face in the pillow. Sighing, Patrick lowered himself into the bed, laying so he was facing the older man. He ran a reassuring hand through Pete's hair, smiling gently.

"You did the right thing, Pete. She insulted your family. You defended your son and called her out on her homophobia. If Ash gets any backlash, she'll understand why. And honestly, after tonight, I don't think that nasty woman will want to go to the meetings anymore. It's gonna be fine." Patrick stated. Pete lifted his face, looking up at the younger man with a smile. He pulled Patrick's hand down by the wrist, pressing a kiss to the palm.

"Thank you."

"And besides—" Patrick's eyes went dark, and he shimmied closer to Pete with a suggestive look, "—that voice you used, all commanding and deep, it was kinda hot." Catching on quickly, Pete smirked, throwing an arm over the singer's waist to press them together.

"Oh, _was it_?" Pete challenged, mimicking the tone of voice from earlier. Patrick giggled, bringing a hand up to cup the bassist's jaw.

They met halfway in a passionate kiss, and the room got hotter around them quickly. The bassist took control, pressing the younger man flush against him as he chased his lips. Pete was just about to straddle Patrick's thighs to deepen the kiss, but suddenly his phone vibrated on the nightstand, interrupting them.

"You can get that, if you want. We've got all night." Patrick offered, keeping his hand on the back of Pete's neck. Pete sighed, rolling to the other side of the mattress.

"It's probably just Joe being bored again, anyway," Pete joked, plucking the device from the table, "We should call him and gross him out by bragging about all the crazy gay sex we're hav— _oh_." The older man cut himself off, eyes going wide.

"What?" Patrick asked, propping himself on his elbows.

"It's a Facebook message from B's teacher." Pete replied, swiping open his phone. A short pause as the app loaded, and Pete began reading.

"Hey, Pete. I'd like to apologize for what happened tonight at the meeting, I didn't know that Ms. Black was so intolerant and boastful. I've asked her not to attend anymore meetings, as to make sure everything runs smoothly and another night doesn't end like this one did. After you and your husband left, we all had a lengthy discussion about acceptance and how to properly teach it to our children, and I can promise you Bronx will definitely be talking about it when he comes home tomorrow, as I'm incorporating it into the lesson.

"I'd also like to thank you for standing up to her like you did. I'm a lesbian, I have been married to a woman for ten years now, so to hear Ms. Black make such offensive and homophobic remarks really struck me deep as well. It's incredible to me how you told her off like you did. Anyways, thank you again, and I hope that next time we meet, we'll be able to discuss this in depth. Have a good night. Smiley face." Pete read. Patrick smiled brightly.

"Told you it'd be fine." The singer said. Pete smirked, locking his phone again and setting it down. He flicked his bedside lamp off and rolled over to where Patrick laid.

"Where were we?" He asked, pressing his forehead against the younger man's. Patrick let his lips hover right in front of Pete's, teasing.

"Riiiiight about here."

"Of course." Pete was just about to close the distance, but Patrick's finger shot up to his lips, stopping him.

"Can we still gross Joe out?" Patrick grinned, hopeful. Pete laughed, eyes crinkling.

"Yeah, but wait 'til he texts one of us. Then make as many sexual noises as you can while I call him." Patrick cackled, wrapping his arms around Pete's neck and hauling him down.

Twenty minutes later, Pete found himself laughing uncontrollably at the shrill noise on the other end of the line as Patrick faked his best moaning. As he tried to contain his laughter as Joe gave them shit for " _fucking while talking, like what the fuck is wrong with you two_ ", he decided his night went pretty great. He didn't know what he'd been worried about.

///////


End file.
